


Art.

by FeliciaAmelloides



Series: A Oneshot a Day... [119]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Badly Written, Carrie parody, Drawing, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Modern AU, OOC, Some Romance, Supernatural Elements, They’re in middle school for some reason?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 22:25:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14482494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeliciaAmelloides/pseuds/FeliciaAmelloides
Summary: Oswald doesn’t have any friends. He’s constantly sitting alone, constantly hiding away from everyone else, constantly drawing anything and everything he sees.But he has a secret. One that even he doesn’t know.





	Art.

**Author's Note:**

> This is absolute trash I’ve only seen up to S3 Ep11 of Gotham and I have no idea what’s going on but I ship this and I made a fic about it. For some reason Oswald is sort of Carrie? I haven’t seen Carrie either but I googled her powers to make them somewhat similar. 
> 
> I’m sorry.

Oswald had never been like the other kids.

While they ran around and played, he hid in the corner with a sketchbook and a pencil. Drawing was his ‘thing’. He constantly drew. Anything and everything he saw went on the paper. At first, his drawings were childish scribbles with scratchy, illegible captions. But as he grew older, they became more complex and beautiful. Arguably, so did he.

The bullying started when he was thirteen. 

He was used to being ignored by the others. But when he transferred to a new middle school in the second term of the penultimate year, the kids there pounced upon him. Oswald was new, he was weird, and he had a limp. All were used as ammunition for the others’ insults. He found that he didn’t mind the occasional punches and kicks. He got used to being slammed against a locker after a time. It was the verbal abuse which got to him. Words weren’t supposed to hurt. So why did they?

Finally, he snapped.

It was the final day of middle school. Parents were crowded into the gymnasium waiting for their precious little angels to come out and read their speeches about how amazing their school lives had been. As for Oswald, he was sitting in the back of the dressing room watching everyone else move around the room practicing lines or crying over the loss of the friends they’d forget in two years time. As usual, he was drawing. 

But this time, he wasn’t the only one watching.

Maria Mercedes Mooney, known to some as Fish and to all as the most popular girl in school, strutted over to Oswald confidently. Before he had time to protest, she snatched his sketchbook from his hands and held it up high above her. His eyes widened in terror as he tried desperately to get it back. 

“Didn’t think you were the perverted sort, Ozzie. But really darling, you have to be more subtle than that. Maybe use a camera instead? It’ll get their curves in _much_ better.” Oswald ignored her comments. He had no interest in girls. That wasn’t what he had been drawing anyway.

“Maria. Give that back.” It was difficult to keep his voice even, but he did so anyway, attempting to stand higher so he could look at her head on. She just laughed, keeping his precious sketchbook just out of reach. Twirling around, she flicked through it flippantly.

“Wow, these are _really_ good!” She exclaimed in an exaggerated tone, “I bet you could become a real artist someday.” Oswald tried to get in front of her so he could get to the sketchbook, knowing that she was about to flick to a page he’d drawn when he was incredibly bored and not quite thinking straight. If she got to that page... it would ruin him. Even though it was the last day of school, she’d pass it on to everyone at their new school. He’d be damned before he’d even started.

Fish reached the page. Her jaw dropped. For a moment all she did was stare. Then she did the worst thing Oswald could have imagined.

She burst into laughter and started to beckon for the nearest person in her friendship group, who just so happened to be Butch- a burly idiot who would definitely be a stereotypical jock come high school. Oswald tried once again to grab the sketchbook, but she still wouldn’t let him. Tears glasses over his eyes until he could see nothing but blurry lights. Everything felt fuzzy and unclear, and suddenly-

Red.

He saw red. No one should have seen those drawings. And he wasn’t going to let it ruin him. Not until... Until he could show the person they were intended for. The anger boiled up inside of him until it spilled over, and all he wanted to do was tear Maria limb from limb.

There was a bang, and one of the overhead lights exploded. Maria screamed as the light crashed right onto her, shattering over her body and filling her with glass shards. She continued to wail as Butch dashed to her side. But the chaos wasn’t over yet. Several other shards seemed to rise from the ground until they were floating right in front of his eyes. He tried to hold back a scream at the sight of the levitating weapons, but he couldn’t help it. The scream tore from his lips just as the glass plunged into his eye, a crimson tear rolling down his face while the noise rose.

Screams, explosions, items flying everywhere... And in the centre of it all, the sketchbook, floating in mid-air. Slowly it descended into Oswald’s hands, clearing his head and removing the crimson until all that was left was a startling clarity. He gazed, wide-eyed, at the open page of the book. A single bloodstain tainted the corner. A bloodstain he had somehow made. He didn’t quite know how or why, but the carnage which had filled the room must have been created by him. He took in a shaky breath, sinking to his knees in a state somewhere between shock and panic, becoming numbness as he tried to recover. 

“Excuse me.” A voice from behind him caused him to whirl around, backing into a table as he tried to get away from whoever it was. What if he hurt someone else?

Then he realised.

Before him stood the boy he’d aggressively drawn all over that incriminating page of his sketchbook. It was a compilation gathered from many days of watching him, taking in his form and working until he got it just right. At first it had just been an experiment to see how well he could draw hyper-realistically. By the end it was a fixation. An obsession. A _crush_.

Edward Nygma.

Who would’ve guessed?

“S-stay away from me.” Oswald choked out while he backed even further into the table. Edward only drew closer. But to Oswald’s surprise, instead of trying to detain and/or kill him, he just produced a handkerchief from... somewhere.

“Your nose is bleeding pretty badly.” He said simply. Despite wanting to crawl into himself and die, Oswald gave him a look.

“Butch’s eye just got stabbed, there are seriously injured people everywhere and I think Maria might be dead. You’re really most concerned about me right now?” Edward shrugged casually, sending something all too familiar straight (well, not really) to Oswald’s chest. His face suddenly felt quite warm despite the chills running down his spine. 

“Out of everyone here, you’re the only one I’m able to help. Take it.” He thrust the handkerchief into the dark-haired boy’s hands, ignoring the way his face reddened at the touch (or maybe/hopefully just not noticing it). Oswald scrabbled to wipe the blood from his nose, finding that it didn’t actually hurt. Then why...

“Thank you.” He breathed with a tiny smile, pushing his questions aside. This was the only opportunity he’d ever get to talk to his crush. Even if the circumstances were completely insane, he was going to take it.

“Don’t worry about it. And... you can keep that.” He shifted from one foot to the other, seeming a little unsettled by the amount of blood on the handkerchief. Oswald smiled wider and awkwardly tried to shuffle to his feet. It was incredibly difficult considering that he could barely walk as it was and he was still recovering from... whatever just happened. Just before he could fall and make a fool of himself, Edward extended a hand to him. He took it without thinking, then realised what he was doing. Mortified yet oddly happy at the feeling of Edward’s hand in his, Oswald let him pull it up.

“Thank you. A-again.” Feeling awkward, he let go of the other’s hand and recoiled back into himself, hands closing protectively around the sketchbook.

“I’ve seen you around school before. You’re... Oswald, right? Transferred here last year? I don’t believe we’ve met.” The stereotypical ‘ _*gasp* he knows my name! *squeeee*_ ’ ran through Oswald’s mind before he yet again had to brush it off. He was being stupid. Edward was right. They hadn’t even met before that day. It was almost fate... No! Being stupid. Again.

“N-no, I don’t believe we have,” He hastily replied upon realising that Edward had been expecting a response, “Oswald Cobblepot. But I guess you already knew that.” Once more their hands met, this time in a fleeting handshake that only two extremely awkward teenagers would carry out in this day and age.

“I belong to you but others use me more than you do. What am I?” The first part of that caused Oswald’s heart to beat faster before he realised it was a riddle. Confused and a little freaked out, he struggled to find the answer. Then it sparked in his mind and he quickly answered.

“Your name.” Edward’s smile was sleek and refined, elegant in a way. The way his deep brown eyes sparkled told Oswald he’d gotten it right before the boy told him so himself.

“Correct. Mine’s Edward. Edward Nygma. It’s nice to meet you Oswald.” He shakily smiled in response, mind going into overdrive from everything which had just happened. Meanwhile, Edward turned to examine the rest of the room. Every student but them was unconscious and injured. The door was blocked by a variety of objects. Dressing room tables, chairs, boxes of clothing, much heavier boxes of props... Everything stood in the way of their escape. Edward frowned and approached the pile, examining it closely. Oswald followed after him as fast as possible, also turning his attention to the mess in front of the door. Had he really done that? His sketchbook felt heavy in his hands.

“I fly without wings. What am I?” Edward muttered. Oswald found it weird but also slightly endearing that riddles were his ‘thing’. It was oddly fascinating that everyone seemed to have a ‘thing’. He sometimes wished he could enter every person’s head and find out what theirs was. 

“Time.” He answered much more easily that time. He’d seen that one on the Internet before. Again Edward’s eyes lit up behind his glasses.

“Yes. We’re going to have to spend some in here. There’s no way either of us could move this, even if we work together.” Guilt flooded Oswald’s mind at the realisation that he’d basically ruined any of the unconscious students’ chances of getting swift medical treatment. But this guilt quickly dissipated when he subsequently realised that he had just trapped himself in a small room with the guy he _had a crush on_. Alone. Pretty much anyway. Oh God that made him an awful person.

Oh well.

“The adults outside will have heard something. We’ll get out soon.” He said instead of anything he thought of saying, choosing to play it safe. Edward nodded as he moved away from the door and sat down in a relatively debris-free patch of floor. Oswald soon joined him, and for a while they just sat there, neither quite sure what to say.

Eventually Ed broke the silence.

“What... _was_ that back there?” Oswald’s eyes widened. He had expected that question, yes, but it didn’t prepare him for the look in Edward’s eyes as he said it. It was almost... fearful. And the worst part was that he honestly didn’t know. 

“I have no idea if I’m honest with you. That’s never happened before. But... I know I somehow caused it.” Already he worried that Edward was going to reject him. Run away. Give him that terrified look the other students did as the lights popped and furniture flew around the room. 

He didn’t. Instead he only drew closer, leaning in towards him as if to-

Take a closer look at his sketchbook. Oh.

_Oh._

Oswald hurriedly pulled the book away from the other’s reach, determined not to let him look at it. Not then, not ever. He couldn’t bear for him to see those awful drawings on that awful page. Rather than getting angry or upset, however, Edward just gave him a strange, almost clinical look, like a doctor examining a patient.

“You really care about that book, huh?” That was all he was going to say? It was weird, but the soft way he asked it made Oswald’s heart flutter.

“I do. I’ve had it for many years now. It’s a sort of a record. An archive for my drawings.” He smiled absently, gazing at the paper below him. He really did love that book. In a slightly creepy way, he supposed he could call it his only friend.

“What kind of things do you draw?” That question surprised him. But looking into Edward’s incredible brown eyes, he saw only interest. No fear. He wondered for a moment if he was dreaming. Then again, if he was dreaming he probably wouldn’t have attacked their entire grade using the supernatural before this conversation.

“Oh, y’know... Landscapes, animals, people... Anything I see really. I like to draw what goes on around me.” He hoped that wouldn’t prompt Edward to ask-

“Have you ever drawn me?” Damn it. Immediately heat began to spread across his face and he knew he was red. Edward smirked and seemed to draw closer yet again, causing the dark haired boy to shuffle back a little, suddenly feeling quite flustered, “You have. Haven’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

“M-maybe once or twice.” He awkwardly stuttered, trying to avoid Edward’s gaze but getting lost in his eyes. Was he still getting closer or was it just his imagination?

“Show me.” He whispered, setting Oswald’s heart ablaze. But he couldn’t. Of course not. 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. These drawings are private.” He stated bluntly, pushing away his instantaneous regret.

“Even though they’re of me?” Oswald nodded too quickly. The distance between him and the other boy was far too short for comfort. 

“I’d really rather not show you. They’re not very good.” He half told the truth, since he personally disliked that page of drawings a lot. He hadn’t captured Edward well at all. But that wasn’t the reason he couldn’t show him. Far from it.

“I won’t be mad or anything. Actually, I suppose you could say I’m flattered. No one’s ever been interested in me enough to want to draw me before,” Oswald’s blush became more prominent as he listened to the compliment. He really hadn’t expected that, “Are you alright? You look a little flushed.” Pointing this out only flustered the boy even more, but he tried his hardest to compose himself.

“I’m fine. It’s just hot in here, that’s all.” Edward gave him a look, glasses glinting in the dim light coming from the one remaining working light bulb set into one of the rather stereotypical dressing room mirrors.

“Really? Actually I think it’s quite cold.” That comment made things even worse. Oswald hoped he didn’t look too stupid. It was hard to tell.

“I don’t feel the cold.” He hurriedly made an excuse, praying to anything which might be listening to get him out of that situation alive. Edward smiled, somehow perfectly composed.

“You’re pretty lucky then.” For the second time since that light exploded, Oswald heard the first part of the sentence and got far too excited for no reason whatsoever.

“You think I’m lucky?” 

“Perhaps.” The ambiguity of the answer was worrying, but he pushed it aside. Then all of a sudden Edward changed the subject, “So could I possibly see that drawing of me?” ...straight (still not really) back to the topic at hand.

“I already said no!” Oswald couldn’t bear to tell him that there was more than one incriminating drawing. Edward sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose a bit.

“Well, I supposed it was worth another try. Oh well. What about your other drawings?” It seemed that every time Edward spoke he surprised the dark haired boy. He pondered this question. It would be alright to show him his other drawings... right?

Of course.

Shyly Oswald smiled and reached for the sketchbook, feeling nervous but excited too. He’d never shown anyone his art before. “I guess you can see those. But I warn you, I’m not exactly Van Gogh.” Edward laughed, a beautiful sound in Oswald’s opinion.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be.” With a grin, he leaned forwards to look at the book. Oswald opened it carefully, making sure he didn’t land on that awful page. The page he ended up on was a selection of various students of the school. The centrepiece was (weirdly enough) Fish, standing by a water fountain with a glare on her face and a phone on her hand. He smiled faintly, remembering when he drew that. Meanwhile, Edward looked on in awe at the incredible skill in Oswald’s art, “These are... amazing. How long did it take you to draw them?” 

Oswald ignored the screams of joy his internal monologue was aggressively releasing and answered the question, “A few hours. Fish stood there for a long time. She’s an interesting person to draw, so I decided to try it.” 

“You’re very talented. I don’t think most people could get her appearance quite right.” The screams got louder. He felt as if he was going to spontaneously combust. Considering what happened just minutes ago, he probably both could and would.

For some time, the two boys sat side by side looking through Oswald’s sketchbook. They laughed at his awful drawings of rabbits (he’d never been good with them), Edward gazed in awe at his detailed sketches of birds and Oswald talked at length about the origins and design of every drawing. Somehow he knew about every single one, no matter how long ago he drew them. To Edward this was fascinating.

Finally, there was only one page left to visit. His page. 

“So the drawing of me is on this page?” Edward asked, trying to sound mildly interested but actually dying to know what was on that page. Oswald nodded shakily, a nervous expression crossing his features as he twitched a little.

“I’m still not showing it to you.” He clarified before Edward could ask. 

“Do you really hate it that much?” The softness of the brunet’s voice still got to Oswald. He sounded so sincere and raw in those moments. It was such a nice thing to hear, even better than all of the compliments he’d delivered over the course of their art-appreciating session. 

“I don’t hate it. I don’t hate any of my drawings, no matter how awful they are. I just swore to myself that I wouldn’t show anyone this.” Edward nodded calmly, pushing away his desire in favour of supporting his newest friend. He wouldn’t push him any more.

“Okay then. I’ll stop asking.” Edward leaned back against an overturned dresser as Oswald looked at him in surprise. He didn’t think Edward would give up so easily. It made him feel... guilty? No. No way. He wasn’t going to-

“I’ll show you.” Damn it. His ~~cock~~ heart did the talking for him. Again. Why did he keep repeating himself that day? It was probably a symptom of awkwardness caused by being near the source of his affections.

“Really? A-are you sure?” He looked oddly innocent in that moment. Oswald felt himself falling even harder for the glasses-wearing boy the more he talked to him. He nodded with absolute certainty, and slowly opened the page. Time to ruin his chances.

Edward was completely silent.

The lack of noise terrified Oswald even more than becoming Carrie did. He immediately regretted ever showing him that page. What if he lashed out? What if he stopped talking to him? What if, what if-

“They’re...” Oswald’s heart caught in his throat. “...they’re beautiful.” It almost leapt straight (NOT REALLY) out. 

“You really think so?” The smile he got when Edward looked up made him lose all that regret.

“Yes! I had no idea you made more than one. How do you _do_ that? They look exactly like me.” Not wanting to repeat himself out loud, Oswald simply answered,

“I worked extra hard on yours.” He gazed at those god-awful drawings himself for the first time in a while. The entire page was completely covered in pictures of Oswald. Each had a date and location next to it, and each showed him in a different pose. Sitting on the wall outside of school waiting to be picked up. Eating lunch in the cafeteria. Studying in the library. Each image was a different scene from Edward’s life, and the worst part was that the boy himself didn’t even remember half of the scenes they depicted happening. But seemingly Oswald had. 

The part which made this so awful was the captions. 

‘ _His hair was really messy today- windswept? It looks good though._ ’ One read. It was just supposed to be a note on the art, he’d told himself at the time. Not anything else.

‘ _Those glasses are so cute!_ ’ Another said. He hadn’t meant to write that! It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing that he forgot to rub out.

‘ _I love him so much._ ’ The worst of them all piped up. It was the caption of the final drawing, the one Oswald liked the best and hated the most. Edward was sitting alone in the corner of a room, light falling over the book he was intently gazing at and landing in his hair. He’d gotten it perfectly- the most beautiful drawing he’d ever made, and the most beautiful depiction of Edward he owned. The caption was just a rendition of something he’d already known by then. He knew Edward had read it.

“Oswald... Do you... Really mean that?” Although his voice was slow, Oswald knew it was over. He shouldn’t have shown him the page. He knew this was going to happen! It was so stupid... Closing his eyes, he answered the question with an almost imperceptible nod. It was Edward’s turn to redden.

“I can’t be bought, but I can be stolen with a glance. I’m worthless to one, but priceless to two. What am I?” Another riddle? Oswald opened his eyes and stared at him. He didn’t know the answer.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know that one.” Edward’s eyes didn’t light up like they did when he got an answer right. Instead, they darkened.

“It’s love.” Suddenly they were very close. So close... Oswald felt himself leaning in without understanding why. Edward seemed to feel the same.

Their lips brushed against each other for the briefest of seconds before reality caught up and they both immediately pulled back and shuffled five metres away from one another, faces bright red and breaths unnaturally heaving.

“What was that?” Oswald asked from the new distance, shocked enough to not know whether he should be happy or not. Edward gave him the hint of a smile from the other side of the room.

“Something I’d like to try.” He answered smoothly. 

“W-what do you...” He trailed off as Edward approached him again.

“Can I kiss you again?” This time the blush on his face didn’t bother him as he nodded in response.

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know what this is? It started off being supernatural and became art-nerd fluff. 
> 
> I apologise for the poor writing quality. This took me so long to write that the post was delayed and I still didn’t make it all that good.
> 
> A fun (?) fact- I hate the ship name Nygmobblepot. It’s a mouthful. I was using Penygma (admittedly also pretty bad) until I found out the fandom already chose a name. I’m new to the fandom too despite having seen Gotham from the day it aired in the UK.
> 
> Prompt- A child born with magic.
> 
> The original idea for this was Frozen with Oz as Elsa and Ed as Anna. Please be relieved that I didn’t do this?
> 
> Original Number- 39.


End file.
